


He's Just Not That Into You

by Lywinis



Series: One Shots -- Capsicoul [8]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Getting Together, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes there's just nothing you can do but move on. Phil resolves to handle it. It gets handled. It's not easy, but then again, when is it ever easy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything You Want

_He's everything you want,_

_He's everything you need,_

_He's everything inside of you,_

_That you wish you could be,_

_He says all the right things,_

_At exactly the right time,_

_But he means nothing to you,_

_And you don't know why._

—Vertical Horizon, ‘Everything You Want’

* * *

 

 

“I was wondering,” Phil said, then stopped. Steve looked up from his report, one brow rising in silent question. Phil cleared his throat and resisted the urge to tug his tie tighter and strangle himself. He’d already started, he might as well finish.

“I was wondering, Captain, if you’d like to go get lunch with me, sometime?” he asked.

“Um, sure, Agent Coulson.” Steve looked uncomfortable, which was the last thing Phil wanted.

He shrugged. “You don’t have to, really. I thought I’d offer.”

“I just – I’m pretty busy at the moment. Maybe some other time?” Steve asked, giving him a small smile.

“No, no, it’s all right, Captain. I understand.” Phil resisted the urge to shuffle his feet, instead tucking the folder he was carrying under his arm. He leaned on his cane for just a moment, feeling the strain of the day the more that Steve fixed him with that polite, distant stare.

“I’m afraid I need to get going,” Phil said, holding up the folder. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“Mm,” Steve said, turning his eyes back to his report.

Phil got out to the hallway and leaned against the cool cinderblock wall for a moment, letting his head hit the wall with a solid _thump_.

_Phil, you idiot._ He scolded himself. He hobbled down the hall back to his office, so that he could hide in his paperwork.

* * *

 

“Who’s she?” Steve asked, as Phil walked past. Phil turned, glancing at Sharon working over one of the dummies. She had her long blonde hair bound in a braid, and as he watched, she leapt into the air and delivered a punishing heel drop to the dummy. He nodded to her, and she lifted a hand in greeting, breathing hard as she trotted over to where her bag rested to grab her water bottle.

“Agent Thirteen,” Phil said, glancing back at Steve. He was turned away from Phil, and so he let his eyes wander over the cut of the Captain’s jaw for just a moment. He watched the way the Captain’s eyes followed her, and kicked himself mentally. Of course. What had he expected? “Sharon Carter.”

“Carter?” Steve’s eyes flicked back to Phil, and startled, Phil dropped his gaze. “As in…?”

“Yes, she’s Margaret Carter’s niece,” Phil said. “She’s one of our best operatives.”

Steve thanked him and clapped him on the shoulder, pacing across the mats to go and introduce himself.

_You really are an idiot._ Phil shook his head at himself because he still couldn’t help but watch the Captain’s back as he went. He hurried back to his office.

Really, he should be happy. So he would be.

* * *

 

“You’re leaving?” Phil glanced up to see Clint leaning in the doorway. The archer had his arms folded, and he was scowling.

“I’ve been reassigned,” he said. “I’m not leaving, I still work for SHIELD.”

“But not the Avengers.”

“Clint, I haven’t been an Avengers liaison since I was stabbed.”

Clint flinched. “I thought you’d stay.”

“I thought I would, too. Director Fury had other ideas. I’m heading up a new team of juniors.” Phil gave a lopsided smile. “It’s a promotion for me.”

“And it doesn’t have anything to do with Cap’s new girlfriend?” Clint asked, his eyebrows drawing down into a scowl. Phil’s eyes met his over the top of the folder he was paging through.

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with this reassignment. It’s not any of my business, nor is it anyone else’s, what goes on in the Captain’s private life.” Phil gave a small smile. “If he is dating Agent Carter like the rumor mill suggests, then I wish him all happiness. It’s not about that.”

“Don’t lie to your eyes in the sky, Boss.” Clint’s arms flexed as he folded them. “They’re better than most. That’s what I do. I watch. Your back, your front. Your six.”

“What are you suggesting?” Phil asked, scowling.

“Boss, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you have a crush on Captain America. I mean, seriously, I figured it out.” Clint gestured to himself. Phil opened his mouth to argue, but Clint held up a hand. “Look, if this is how you wanna deal with it, go ahead. But he’s missing out.”

“Probably not,” Phil said, sighing. “I mean, I asked, but he’s not interested. So…I’m happy for him.”

Clint snorted, shaking his head. “Feel like I’m in high school.”

Phil gave a wan smile. “In high school, I believed in happy endings. You learn pretty quick that those don’t happen for people like us.”

Clint gave him a piercing look. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Phil tilted his head. “Besides, you don’t need a handler anymore. You’re an Avenger now. You’re a consultant, and that means you have a lot more freedom. You don’t need me breathing down your neck. I’m put to much better use by kicking around juniors.”

“Really?” Clint’s eyes bored into him now. “And are you gonna be running off to Kansas anytime soon, Dorothy?”

Phil’s voice was quiet. “No, Clint. I made a promise. I won’t break it.”

Clint nodded once. “Good. You want Chinese?”

“Sure.”

* * *

 

Steve didn’t know what to make of Agent Sitwell. The man was efficient to a fault, and quiet enough that Steve had to crank up his awareness to hear him coming. For an agent, that wasn’t a bad thing, he just felt kind of, well…

Less personable?

That might be it.

He pondered it as he made toast in the communal kitchen in the tower. It was early morning, the sun just peering over the skyline, and he listened to the percolator finish up the coffee. He buttered his toast, a piece dangling from his mouth as he poured himself some coffee. He’d just gotten back in from a run, and he was showered and shaved already. It hadn’t taken his mind off the conundrum of why the Agent’s assignation to the team for SHIELD was bothering him so much.

Agent Coulson had never caused him this level of discomfort. Maybe because Coulson – no, Phil, he’d died for the team, however briefly, he deserved first name treatment – had never treated any of them like an asset, not even Stark. How he’d managed to keep his cool around Tony Stark, Steve had never managed to figure out, because the agent had vanished, replaced by Sitwell, who merely replied that Agent Coulson was needed ‘elsewhere’.

Steve frowned down at the paper, not really reading it.

“You look like someone punched Abraham Lincoln,” came a voice, and Steve looked up to see Clint wander in with his tank top rucked up, scratching his bare stomach. Clint poured himself a cup of coffee and snagged a donut from the box on the counter, not bothering with a plate as he plunked himself down opposite Steve. “What’s got your all-American tighty-whities in a bunch now?”

“Just thinking.” Steve rustled the paper, trying to smooth the wrinkles in his brow. “Clint, does something seem…off, about Agent Sitwell?”

“Jasper?” Clint took a bite of his donut, frosting covering his upper lip. “Aww, donut, no.”

He worked at getting it off, and Steve wondered if he were stalling before he answered.

“Jasper’s a good guy. Why, what’ve you got against him?”

“Nothing, he just seems kind of…” Smug? Cold? “Detached. He’s not at all like Phil was. Is Sitwell the exception or the rule?”

Clint raised a brow at him, tucking a knee close to his chest. “Man, you can’t call _any_ SHIELD agent average, especially when you get past level three or so. Jasper’s doing what he does. He didn’t ask to be transferred to the Initiative, but when Phil left—”

“He _left_?” Steve said, flabbergasted. “I thought he accepted a promotion?”

“He did,” Clint said. “He also left so he didn’t have to see you sucking face with Carter.”

“Now see here—” Steve rose, his palms flat on the table. When the full impact of Clint’s sentence hit him, he was left making a soundless noise in the face of Clint’s belligerent stare. “He what?”

“Jesus, for someone who can come up with six contingency plans in under a minute, you’re fuckin’ _dense_ sometimes. You really didn’t know?” Clint cocked his head at Steve, and gauged his expression. “You _didn’t_. Good god. What did you _think_ being your biggest fan meant? He’s been half in love with you for years.”

“He what?” Steve felt like a parrot, but he couldn’t keep the question from slipping past his teeth.

“You should have _heard_ him when they found you. He literally swooned in his office where none of the juniors could see him. I knew about the cards and everything, but it wasn’t until I dragged him home after an Op that I saw the whole collection.” Clint leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. “His office in his apartment has a fuckin’ museum dedicated to you. Comic books, posters, replicas. It’s nuts. He collected all of it, because he’s been alone the entire time. He’s had nothing to spend his money on.”

“The entire time?” Steve felt a pit sinking into his stomach. “He’s been alone?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Steve, he’s had girlfriends, couple boyfriends, though they never last long. He can’t talk about the job, so they get mad, they leave, or he leaves before they can. Holly was the worst.”

“Holly?”

“The cellist Stark was talking about. He and Pepper kept needling him to fly out to Portland.” Clint snorted. “He won’t, though. He thinks this – thinks we’re – too important. He wouldn’t take a day off if you made him.”

“Jesus.” Steve sat down with a heavy thump.  “I didn’t know.”

“Did you _ask_ , or were you too interested in Carter?” Clint snapped. “Look, I don’t know what your history with her aunt in the war was, and I really don’t give a shit. You could have given Phil the time of day, but you didn’t. You blew him off. Again. After he did what he did for all of us. No wonder he walked.”

Steve let his hands dangle between his knees, his guts twisting. He had been standoffish, he supposed. He didn’t know he had been, of course, but…he wasn’t…

“I’m not…”

“You wanna know something?” Clint said, interrupting his train of thought. His chair went back onto all fours with a thump. “My brother had a trading card of you. Said you were the best of the best, and that’s what we would be too. He walked out when he realized I was holding him back. I caught him when I started working for SHIELD. He was trying to rob a place I was protecting. I shot him. Phil helped me bury him.”

He stood up with a jerk, his coffee slopping over the rim of his mug.

“So if it ever comes down to choosing between you an’ Phil? I’ll take the one who stuck around. Because you sure as hell didn’t teach anyone anything when you came back, except about how much of a prick you can be. My brother woulda loved you.”

Clint stalked off, Steve watching him go. How could he ever make amends for this?

* * *

 

Steve knocked on the apartment door. He’d managed to wiggle the information out of Sitwell, who’d given him a searching look before jotting the address down. The building was nice, well kept, and Steve jogged up the stairs to 4-F.

He hoped that Phil was home.

The chain rattling in the burglar stop made him release his breath. Phil opened the door, a soft flannel work shirt rolled to his elbows and tucked into blue jeans. It was a very casual look for Phil; Steve couldn’t remember seeing the agent out of his suit before. Phil’s surprise was only visible in a slight widening of his eyes and the hitch of his breath, inaudible to anyone without advanced hearing.

“Captain,” he said, standing in the doorway. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering…if I could come in?” Steve asked.

“I suppose you’d better,” Phil said, and he stepped back, gesturing inside. Steve stepped in, taking in the apartment. It was small, but well-furnished. A squashy armchair sat next to a well-worn couch, wooden bookshelves lining the walls and framing a television. It was…comfortable. He turned, looking at Phil, who was standing behind him, his hands in his pockets.

“Have a seat,” Phil said, dropping down into the armchair. Steve perched on the edge of the couch, his eyes on Phil’s face. Phil wouldn’t look at him. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurted. Phil’s brow quirked, and he met Steve’s eyes at last. “Look, Clint told me what was going on, and I wanted to apologize. I didn’t know—”

“I didn’t intend for you to know,” Phil said, his blue-grey eyes gone the color of slate. “It wasn’t appropriate, Captain, and part of the reason why I requested the transfer.”

“You shouldn’t have to transfer because of me, that’s not fair to you,” Steve said, set to argue.

“It’s already done, been done for weeks. I didn’t want to be a burden, and I can do more good training juniors than I can trailing behind you and hoping you’ll notice me. You never did, and I can’t fault you for that.” Phil swallowed. “You’re a person, with your own life and goals, and I forgot that for a moment. It won’t happen again, you have my word, Captain.”

“It’s Steve,” he said. Phil, sitting rigid in the chair that looked like he’d fallen asleep in many times, stiffened further. “You can call me Steve.”

“That’s not appropriate,” he said, his eyes flicking away. “You have my apologies, Captain. I’m sure you have a lot of errands to attend to, you’re a busy man. I won’t take up more of your time.”

“…oh. Of course,” Steve stood, his hands dangling by his sides. Somehow, he’d mucked it up further. His brow furrowed, but he couldn’t figure it out. “Listen, I don’t mind being friends outside of work, if that’s all right?”

Phil walked him to the door. “You don’t have to show interest because Clint gave you an earful, Captain. I know my former charge, and it’s no doubt you got both barrels from him if he thought you were doing wrong. I can tell when someone isn’t interested, and it’s quite all right. I’ve dealt with rejection before. I’m an adult, and I know how to act like one.”

“Of course, Phil, I never meant to imply—” Steve faltered. He couldn’t see a way out of this situation, and he was frustrated beyond all measure that he’d created it for himself.

“It’s all right,” Phil said, and Steve almost started shouting, because it was obvious that it _wasn’t_. He ground his teeth. “Thank you for coming to apologize. You don’t have to. I’m fine.”

“Phil,” Steve said.

“I really don’t think socializing outside of work is a good idea,” Phil said, a small, tight smile making him seem like he was in pain. “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“A-all right,” Steve said, shoulders slumping a little. He felt like a total ass, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He rubbed the back of his neck, standing on the doormat. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. Thank you for stopping by, Captain. It was a pleasure to speak with you, as always.”

“Sure, Phil,” Steve stood, feeling helpless as they stared at each other for a moment, and then Phil stepped back into the apartment and shut the door. Steve heard the chain rattling in the burglar stop, and he sighed, heading back down the stairs.

So much for that.

 

* * *

 

Phil leaned his head against the door with a sigh. That had been harder than expected. He’d never been one to deny the Captain anything, but after what had happened, it really was for the best that he kept his distance. He swallowed, straightening his back and moving into his office.

Boxes were strewn about, and he moved one onto the desk, packing up the replica kite shield he had and covering it with tissue paper before sealing the box. He mused while tearing off a strip of packing tape with his teeth, that one should never meet their heroes.

He decided that it would be all right. He had plenty of things to occupy him. He had the whole collection to piece out to buyers all across the country, and most of it had already sold. The comics were all gone, as were the toys, and only the larger replicas remained. They’d all sold eventually, but he needed to ship them still.

There was a knot in his chest as he looked around his now-empty office. The spaces on the walls needed filling. Perhaps something tasteful in an art print. Perhaps he’d ask Pepper to lunch and pick her brain for ideas. She was always full of ideas, and she’d jump at the chance to help him decorate.

He stacked the box up, ready for the delivery man to come and pick up. That was the last of it. The walls were too pale and white for him now, but he moved into the living room and settled on the couch to watch a documentary and finish up the rest of his reading. He still had to meet his team on Monday. They would require his full attention.

It really was for the best.

* * *

 

 

_“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” – 1 Corinthians 13:11_


	2. You're a God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve realizes that healing without serum is a maddeningly slow process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the ficlet the chapter before, please, let it stand on its own, and don't read further. If you would like closure, please, read the rest of this. I'm attempting to fix it.

_I've got to be honest,_   
_I think you know,_   
_We're covered in lies and that's okay._   
_There's somewhere beyond this – I know,_   
_But I hope I can find the words to say,_

_Never again, no._   
_No, never again._

_'Cause you're a god,_ _  
And I am not._

\-- Vertical Horizon, ‘You’re a God’

* * *

 

 

The office was cool and dark, and Phil undid his tie, ready for a short nap. His couch was there for a reason; his convalescence was still very much a priority, and Nick had moved the furniture in the day after he’d returned, along with an envelope. The envelope, Phil found, contained keys to a C1 Corvette he’d nicknamed Lola. Now, though, he was much more interested in the couch than he was in the car, and he hung up his jacket and tie to save them from getting too rumpled.

Hands on his shoulders made him pause, the radiant heat of large palms against his shoulderblades making him freeze. He knew the cadence of that breath, the long, broad torso that backed him. The hands moved from his shoulders to his stomach, fiddling with his buttons from behind.

“Don’t…” he said, his voice a whisper, a croak in the dim office. A throaty chuckle reached his ears, and the warmth of the chest came closer, relaxing him against the other. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself away.

Lips brushed the short hairs on the back of his neck, and somehow the top two buttons of his shirt had melted open. Phil, half frozen, made a noise of want as his head was tilted forward, his shirt pulled back for the other to get at his neck. Mouthed kisses, warm and wet and slow, against the back of his neck made him shudder. He wiggled, and the other chuckled again, tilting his head back so that he could mouth at Phil’s ear.

“But Phil, I love you,” Steve said, one hand sliding for the front of his pants.

* * *

 

Phil woke, startled. His office was indeed cool and dark, and the blanket that he’d been curled under was twisted down around his feet. He shuffled around, sitting up at last. He rubbed his eyes. He needed to stop that.

Ever since the day Steve had been at his apartment, he’d been cleaning it out. His memorabilia was almost all gone, save for a few things like the lunchbox he’d owned as a kid that was either unsalable or contained more nostalgia to him than anyone else. These were locked in a safe in the office out of sight.

_I’m working too hard, that’s all._ He glanced at the clock. Less than an hour had passed since he’d decided to take an impromptu nap, but he decided that it was for the best. He was supposed to be meeting with Parker and his friends on the training floor in another hour or so. It would allow him to freshen up and look presentable, as well as caffeinate. He took a moment to rub his hands over his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them so hard that he saw spots.

It really was better that they weren’t friends. He needed that professional barrier.

He stood, using his cane for leverage, and collected his things. He had some junior superheroes to instruct.

* * *

 

Sometimes, he thought, fate was inordinately unkind to one Phillip James Coulson. He sighed, standing in the observation deck, watching the one and only Steve Rogers giving the White Tiger a hand up from where he’d put her on the mat after a sparring session. He clapped her on the shoulder, and Phil saw them all looking up at Steve with a mixture of awe and admiration. He felt his chest tighten a fraction.

He’d been good about avoiding the Captain. He’d stayed out of the way of where the man was known to frequent, sending runners with paperwork and keeping to his office. He’d managed almost a full month. Now, he stared at the man’s broad shoulders, remembering the dream he’d had.

It varied in scope, most of the time Phil alone until he suddenly wasn’t, Steve invading every aspect of his subconscious until he was almost ill with it. He was allowed to want, but never to act on it, and he was quite all right with that – so long as he didn’t have to see the Captain on a day to day basis.

Parker glanced at the observation deck and Phil knew he had been noticed. He debated walking away as though he had forgotten something, and then scolded himself for being a coward. He took a deep breath in, and then out before picking up his cane from where it leaned against the wall.

He shook his head at himself and stepped out into the training room.

“Well done, all of you. I think, however, that it’s time now for debriefing as well as your mission assignments for the next week. As junior superheroes, you’ve got some other responsibilities, we know. So we’re going to organize patrols by what you can handle, let you run with teams of agents for backup.” He smiled at them, and watched them relax. Good, they still trusted him to handle things.

“So, are you still undercover as my principal?” Parker asked.

“Unfortunately, I have other assignments now. Agent Marks will be filling in as your liaison for the current foreseeable future.” Phil nodded to Anna, who stepped forward, a clipboard under her arm. “She is more than capable of handling the situation. I trained her, after all.”

“Afternoon,” she said, smiling at them.

Steve had been watching the whole thing with an aloof expression, but he nodded, turning to the others.

“You’re all showing a lot of progress. Thanks for sparring with me today. You’re going to go far as heroes.” He flashed them that brilliant smile, the one reserved for the war bond posters, and pushed his cowl back. His hair stuck to his forehead and Phil shifted so that he wasn’t looking directly at him, swallowing hard. It would be fine. “I’m going to talk with Agent Coulson a moment and then I’ll leave you to it. Keep up the good work.”

Anna stepped in to field questions and work with scheduling, and Steve stepped over to him, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel he picked up from the side table.

“They’re good kids,” Steve said, glancing at the knot of teens. “Full of heart, but who isn’t at that age?”

“Yes, until you learn better. Parker gets by on sheer bravado sometimes.” Phil gripped the handle of his cane until his knuckles turned white. “They’re still learning, though.”

“We’re all still learning,” Steve said, fixing Phil with a look. “How have you been, Phil?”

“Good,” Phil said, and hated himself for the lie, but it was a necessary one. “Did they give you any trouble?”

“No, they’re good, but I’m not in the old folks home yet. Parker gave me a run for my money at one point though. You were right, the kid has bravado.” Steve glanced down at Phil’s hands, and Phil knew he couldn’t disguise the white knuckled grip he had on his cane. “Phil, can we talk?”

“I don’t think that’s wise, Captain.” Phil forced his hand to relax. “Thank you for helping out today. I should get going. I have a lot more errands to take care of today. Have a good afternoon.”

Phil turned around and hobbled from the room, not bothering to look back. If Steve followed him, he’d have to feign pain and head to his office for a lie-down, but for now, he remained alone as he moved through the helicarrier.

He’d survived. That was step one.

Detox was never easy, he reminded himself. If he looked at this clinically, he could dissect it, turn it on its ear and beat it.

He took a deep breath, then let it out, his chest twinging. Maybe a lie-down wasn’t so bad of an idea after all. He shifted his course and ended up locked in his office with an arm thrown over his eyes as his scar throbbed with a deep tissue ache.

* * *

 

Steve watched Phil go, his brow furrowed. He’d gotten him to talk for a little bit, and he could count that as progress, right? That was good. The agent was still overly polite, but Steve knew why. It was his fault, for pushing when he shouldn’t have. He swallowed down the vague sense of disappointment and turned back to Agent Marks, who was waiting on his input. She smiled at him, bright blue eyes and blonde hair, much like Sharon, and Steve softened, thinking of Agent 13 for just a moment.

He realized that he was woolgathering, and proceeded to break down their combat styles, what they were strongest in, and what they were weakest in. Anna nodded and took notes, thanking him in the crisp way she had. He realized she reminded him more of Phil than anyone else, and he smiled, wondering if the agent rubbed off on everyone he took under his wing.

He thought of Clint with a wince. Maybe so.

Anna turned back to the kids, talking to them about their skillsets, and Steve was beginning to feel superfluous. He excused himself and went to hunt down a shower and something to eat. He passed by the office block deep in the belly of the helicarrier, and he paused outside Phil’s door.

Why was it so important that Phil like him?

Steve considered.

Phil had looked up to him. That pinged shame in Steve’s mind, creeping over the initial strangeness of the situation. Clint had told him, and Phil hadn’t denied it, but after the helicarrier, he hadn’t done anything untoward to make Steve uncomfortable. He’d been stellar, in fact. If Clint hadn’t said something, Steve might have never known.

Maybe Phil had wanted it that way.

Steve pondered this as he continued on to the shower. Had he driven Phil away by ignoring him? Or had he done it by acknowledging the elephant in the room? He had to wonder. Phil was, by all accounts, an extremely private person. Had he stepped over that comfort zone?

His shoulder brushed someone else’s, and he stopped, blinking.

“Sorry,” he said, then realized it was Natasha. “Something wrong, Natasha?”

It had to be nothing short of deliberate. The Black Widow wasn’t touch phobic, laying hands on comrades when she deemed it necessary, but avoiding it unless she wanted to make a point. She looked up at him, green eyes a mask. They flicked over his face, and he wondered what she was reading in his expression, the minute tics of the muscles.

“We should talk,” she said. It wasn’t a suggestion. He nodded, finding an empty office and flipping a chair around to seat himself. He braced his arms over the back, watching as she swept the halls for curious junior agents before closing the door. She seated herself across from him.

“You know he sold his whole collection, yes?” she asked.

Steve blinked. “He didn’t.”

She nodded. “He did. He shipped out the last piece today. Lucky for him, I caught on to what he was doing, and managed to snap up almost all of it using various contacts and go-betweens. It’s sitting in airtight storage at a secure facility.”

Steve rubbed his face with his hands. He’d…done this. He’d done this and he didn’t know how to make it right. He gave her a helpless shrug.

“He won’t talk to me.” He let his shoulders slump a bit. “He blows me off when I ask him if everything’s all right, if I try to get him to talk to me.”

“I know Clint spilled most of it to you,” she said. “He wasn’t supposed to. Coulson never intended you to know.”

“I know, he told me.” Steve sounded morose, even to himself. “I want to be his friend, at least.”

She gave him an assessing stare. “Why?”

“Why?” Steve parroted.

“What do you want from him?” she asked. “What’s he done that has changed your mind?”

“I want to be his friend, Natasha. I disappointed him. That’s enough. He believed in me, and I proved him wrong. He looked up to me, and I let him down. I want to make it right.” Steve met her gaze with an even stare. “No ulterior motive. I just want to right a wrong. It’s my responsibility to do it.”

Natasha met his eyes for just a moment, that unreadable green gaze flicking over the planes of his face, and then she nodded, as if to herself.

“You know he avoids the tower when he can? I think he feels that perhaps he’s been inappropriate with you.” Natasha shifted, crossing her arms to look at him. “I also happen to know he breaks for lunch every day at one, like clockwork. To prepare for that, he does paperwork in his office at noon.”

“So I should bring him lunch?” Steve asked.

Natasha shrugged. “Worked for Clint.”

Steve blinked. “Are he and Clint…?”

She raised an eyebrow. “If by that you mean that they’re more like father and son than handler and asset, you’d be right. There’s a pool that suggests they’re dating, but the rumor was started by Clint himself, and you shouldn’t believe probie gossip anyway.”

Steve rose to continue on to the showers. “Thanks, Natasha.”

“Don’t thank me. You messed up.” She fixed him with a look. “Don’t stay the first couple of times. Just drop him off something to eat. He’ll be less likely to refuse if you just pop in and out.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of trying to be his friend?” Steve asked.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Think of it this way, Steve, though it might be crude. Coulson’s a dog that has trust issues. Do you just run up and shove a hand in his face?”

Steve paused. “No. No, you don’t.”

“Exactly.” She smiled, or he thought she did, the corners of her mouth turning up. “Go on, then. And if you get frustrated, remember, you need to be patient with him. It’s not often one has to restore faith in their heroes.”

Steve nodded and slipped out of the office to find the shower at last.

* * *

 

Phil didn’t pay much attention to the knock at the door. The juniors all knew where to find him this time of day, and his office had an open door policy.

“It’s open,” he called, and blinked in surprise when Steve poked his head around the jamb. “Captain.”

“Hi, Phil.” Steve strode in and set a bag down on his desk. Something delicious-smelling wafted from the still-warm food, and Phil’s stomach growled. “Thought you might be hungry, so I brought you a bite to eat before I ran to my meeting.”

“You didn’t have to–“

Steve waved a hand. “I wanted to. I’ll talk to you later.”

Before Phil could protest, Steve was gone, the door closing behind him. Phil pulled the bag closer and inspected it. It was his usual order, from his preferred burger joint down the street. Someone was feeding the Captain information. Phil pulled out a couple of thick steak fries and popped them in his mouth, pondering.

Natasha, most likely.

He shook his head and set his paperwork aside to eat, ignoring the way his gaze drifted to his door after the Captain. It wasn’t to be. SHIELD didn’t get happy endings; they defended them. He’d been over this and over this in his head.

* * *

 

Steve didn’t stop by every day. He knew it would be excessive, and would seem like he was coming on too strong. Instead, he staggered his visits, dropping in on Phil with lunch or dinner in one hand and a smile on his face. He never opted to stay, just asked how Phil was and then took his leave. The conversations, he noticed, tended to be longer and longer the more he did it. That was a good sign, and he marked his progress such. He wanted to just settle into a chair, but he knew Natasha was right.

Rebuilding trust was something that took time.

In between, he found that he was a better friend than a boyfriend to Agent Carter. He and Sharon bickered about everything from where they would eat to what was the best way to go about finishing a mission. The final straw had been an argument about her placing herself in danger to help him. He healed, and it was something she didn’t, couldn’t do. She’d maintained that as an agent of SHIELD, she was more than capable of protecting herself, but Steve had, in his own stubbornness, stuck to his point.

They’d parted on okay terms, with mutual agreement on the idea that friends was better than fighting. He missed her, but he knew it really was for the best. She was as stubborn as her aunt had been, and it made him wonder if Peggy would have been the same. He’d never really known, nor did he have much idea of it; he’d been too intent on the war, and had been stuck with the idea that he’d go down with whatever mission he was on. Peggy had been a dream, a promise that was broken with the Valkyrie, and Sharon might have been a way to try and rebuild that dream.

He’d never really know. He was glad they were still friends, though.

Phil didn’t seem any happier after his breakup, which meant that the agent had either hadn’t heard (though Steve considered this unlikely), too good at masking his feelings, or he simply had decided to move on. That last possibility made Steve feel the best, although there was a curious twinge there that made him wonder. Still, at least once a week, Steve would pop in with lunch, and Phil was up to smiling when he saw Steve now. That was a good thing, in Steve’s book.

The next time he brought lunch, Phil looked up from his reports and smiled at him. “Captain.”

“Hey, Phil,” he said, smiling in return. “Brought you lunch.”

“Thank you…did you want to sit down?” Steve blinked. That was new. He’d never been asked before.

“Sure,” he said, settling into a chair. “You doing okay?”

“Yes, barring Wilson actually completing a report that doesn’t have barbecue sauce on it, I would be just dandy.” Phil made a face, and Steve chuckled.

They chatted about small things, avoiding the topics Steve knew were more sensitive than the files in Phil’s hands. By the time he left, his stomach was growling, and he was sure that Phil’s food was cold, though Phil hadn’t touched the bag since he’d set it on the desk out of politeness.

Maybe next time he’d bring lunch for the both of them.

* * *

 

The next week was hellish. Doctor Doom and the Mandarin had formed a temporary alliance, and Phil and Steve were run ragged, Phil coordinating field agents while Steve and the Avengers hit the big names where it hurt. There was no time for an energy bar, much less lunch. Reed Richards and the Fantastic Four were called in to help deal with the threat of Doom.

Steve found he ran into Phil more than before, and while he was still courteous, that front of him being stiff and polite was gone, replaced with general weariness. Steve was tired too, but he saw how it affected Phil more. He started steering Phil to his office more, telling him that he was pushing himself hard. Phil would argue, and yet they’d still end up in his office with Phil sitting on his couch with a sigh.

Steve looked out for his friends. Phil was one of those. He could tell when Phil was tired, the sway he got when he was holding himself upright by pure force of will alone. Steve moved closer during those times, because it seemed like no one else noticed, not even Clint with his sharp eyes or Natasha with her body language skills. He always made sure that he wasn’t laying hands on Phil, but he was within catching distance when Phil’s hand went white-knuckled on his cane.

“I’m not tired,” Phil said, his voice peevish as he and Steve walked the halls. “I’m capable of making my own way to my office, Captain.”

“Phil, you’re dead on your feet. I can see it, and I miss things.”

“No, you don’t.” Phil grumped as he unlocked his office, stepping in with Steve right behind him. “You would rather mother me than see to your team?”

“You _are_ my team. Always have been.” Steve folded his arms and looked at Phil. “You’re a part of this team. You’ll always be an Avenger.”

Phil stiffened, and turned around. “I’m not. I’m SHIELD. I always have been.”

Steve frowned. “What’s your deal?”

“Captain.” Phil gave him a serious look. “I’m not sure who you think you’re fooling, but I know who’s been helping you.”

“Oh.” Steve’s shoulders slumped a little. “But—“

“It’s fine.” Phil settled on the couch with a heavy grunt. “Go and see to them. I’ll be fine. I need a break, you were right. Go on.”

“You’ll have a break?”

“Yes, Captain, I’ll have a break.”

Steve smiled, satisfied. “Get some rest, Phil.”

When he left, Phil was undoing his tie to lie down. He turned to watch him a moment, words forming, but then turned to go.

* * *

 

Johnny Storm was always a troublemaker whenever SHIELD ended up having to deal with the Richards. Phil was patient enough, speaking with Sue as she mediated for Reed, who was preoccupied with other things, such as the composition of the Doombot he was taking apart.

What he didn’t expect was Johnny in his personal space when he turned around, the young man smirking at him as if he knew a secret. Phil quirked a brow at him, and Johnny smirked harder, if that were possible.

Were he a younger man, Johnny might have been his type. Hot, blonde, and with a jaw that wouldn’t quit, he bore a striking resemblance that he couldn’t deny to one Steve Rogers. But looks weren’t everything. He found Storm to be obnoxious, even irritating at times. He had a healthy air of bravado about him, but he also had a temper and was known to take dangerous risks on the field. He’d rather be out on his bike with his flavor of the week than helping his sister, though he pulled his weight at the Baxter building.

Phil, as it was, wasn’t in to playing the games Johnny Storm loved to play. He was too damn old for them.

“Agent,” Johnny said, leaning on the ruin of a flipped car. “You got a minute?”

“If you mean ‘do you have exactly sixty seconds to entertain the idea that you will have anything worthwhile to add to the current conversation’, then yes. If this is your attempt to pick me up for drinks, you’ll have better luck elsewhere.” Phil shot him a knowing look, and Johnny, to his credit, rocked back on his heels, stung.

“Come on, now, Agent, I wanted to express my admiration for the move you pulled back there on those sleeper agents.” Johnny’s smirk widened. “That move with the cane? Impressive.”

Phil leaned against the car, taking the weight off for just a moment. That move had taken more of his stamina than he cared to admit. Tangling his cane in the Ten Rings operative’s legs had been a risky move, but it yielded results. Still, his chest twinged.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“So, it wouldn’t be untoward for me to ask you out for a beer, right? I’m buyin’.” Johnny smiled at him. “Heard you had a thing for heroes.”

“You heard wrong, Mister Storm. I’m just doing my job.” Phil pushed off the car. “But thank you, no. Perhaps some other time.”

“You sure?” Johnny frowned a little. “’S just a beer.”

“What’s going on here?” came a voice. He gave an internal groan as Steve strode over, his cowl back as he surveyed the situation. “Everything all right, Phil?”

“We’re having a friendly conversation,” Johnny said, his smile gone sharp. He edged closer to Phil, as though to claim territory, and Phil almost rolled his eyes. Instead, he stepped back, leaning on his cane again.

“Looks like you were doing a little more than talking, son,” Steve said, his brow furrowing.

Phil did sigh then. “This conversation is over. I have a lot of paperwork to take care of. Thank you both for your hard work. Captain Rogers, Mister Storm.”

He hobbled away, leaving the two to sort out whatever it was.

* * *

 

Steve caught up to Phil before he made it back to his office. He was easy enough to overtake, considering how fast he moved, but Steve waited until Phil was in his office to knock and poke his head around the jamb.

“Captain,” Phil said, and Steve, temper wound short from the last week of hell, snapped.

“It’s Steve. For god’s sake, I’ve been your friend going on six months now, and I have a name that’s not my title.” He shut the door behind him and started pacing. “What’s wrong with my name? Is it too _unprofessional_ , agent? Is that it?”

Phil scowled and stood, hobbling around the desk, though Steve felt that it was more for show than anything else. Blue-grey eyes met his, and he felt that curious flip in his stomach when they did. Phil was angry. Angrier than he’d ever seen him, and the blue was washed out to make them gunmetal. Steve, in his abstract state of mind, wanted his colored chalks to capture that, because it was striking.

“ _Captain_ ,” Phil said, stressing the term. Steve’s jaw clenched, and he scowled at Phil, who, to his credit, didn’t back down. “I’ve been doing everything I can to make this easy on you, to make it the furthest thing from awkward for you. I’ve been polite, I’ve been courteous and accommodating. You’ve pushed, when I’ve insisted the opposite would be easier on me. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, true, but I _need_ the professionalism. I can’t – what do you _want_ from me?”

“I want to be your friend,” Steve said, stubborn as a mule and twice as surly. “Is it so bad? Is my presence here that painful for you? Do I need to go?”

Phil’s grip on his cane tightened, and he looked like he was ready to use it on Steve. Steve’s shoulders tensed, and he settled on the balls of his feet.

“Yes. Yes, it is. I’m trying, Captain, but it’s not…this isn’t fun for me. Did you think it was? You have to believe me that I respect you as a person, as a hero, but in my personal life? I need space. I can’t do this. It would be better if we remained coworkers, passing in the hallways.”

“ _Why_?” Steve snapped. “Are you afraid of embarrassing yourself? We all make mistakes. I’m trying to fix mine, not run away from it.”

“I’m not running!” Phil’s chest was heaving, and Steve had never seen the agent so worked up. He’d seen restrained excitement, unhappiness, exhaustion; all of it was concealed beneath the veneer of the agent. He'd gotten under the skin, and Steve felt a little triumph that he’d caused this.

“You’ve walked away every time, Phil, if that’s not running, I don’t know what is!”

Phil’s shoulders tensed. “We can’t all be you, Captain.”

Steve glared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We can’t just bull our way into people’s lives and be what we want to be,” Phil said, eyes burning holes into Steve’s chest. “Did you ever consider that I’m still very much nursing that crush on you? That it might have gotten worse since you started bringing me lunch on a semi-regular basis, because I’m getting to know you and I like Steve Rogers more than I care to admit? That I’m keeping away because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable?”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” Steve said, although that wasn’t totally true. He’d started flushing, although whether that was from anger, the high, hard spots of color were painfully visible in his cheeks.

“You’re too accommodating,” Phil said. “You’re not…look, it’s better if this stopped.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Steve asked. “What if, god forbid, I think you’re a good man, and I want to be your friend?”

“I’d ask you to pull the other one.” Phil snorted and looked down. “I’m not a good man. I do my job. There’s a slight difference. We’re SHIELD, remember? We thrive best in shades of grey.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Steve had stepped forward, into Phil’s personal space, and he hadn’t even realized it. Phil had; he startled and stepped backward, only to be stopped by Steve’s hand on his shoulder. “Look at me.”

Phil tilted his head up. Steve hadn’t realized it was possible for Phil to look so vulnerable. He didn’t look any different to the untrained eye, but for Steve, who had made it his hobby to watch the minute expressions on Phil’s face, to sketch them during his downtime and puzzle out what they meant, he was wide open and hurting.

“You are a good man,” Steve said, leaning down. One hand cupped the back of Phil’s neck, and he stroked Phil’s jaw with his thumb. Phil, to his surprise, leaned into his touch with a soft noise, as though it were involuntary. It made Steve wonder if he could make him make the noise again.

“A good man, and one I wouldn’t mind getting to know better,” Steve said, his voice quiet in the room where tense words had invaded just a moment ago. He leaned down further, and met Phil’s lips with his own.

It was…new, he decided, the stubble on the agent’s jaw scratching his face in a not-unpleasant way, chapped lips that parted with the first press of his mouth and allowed him access. He pulled Phil closer, making the kiss firmer and more insistent, and he was aware of hands on his chest only when they pushed to bring Phil out of his personal orbit. He made a small noise of dissent, but he looked down into blue-grey eyes half-lidded and dark, and decided that it wasn’t so bad.

“Please, don’t.” Phil licked his lips, and made Steve want to chase the path his tongue was taking. “Don’t do this because you think you have to. Don’t…get my hopes up.”

“I’m not doing this to get your hopes up, Phil. And I’m not doing it because you think I have to.” Steve leaned in and touched their foreheads together, their noses brushing. He’d tasted like coffee, but it was a good thing, a _Phil_ thing, and he wanted to find out if there were more of those things to discover. “Give me a chance. Let me take you to dinner. Let me take you out. No strings attached. If you don’t have a good time, you don’t have to go out with me again.”

Phil sighed out, the tension leaving him as he leaned into Steve.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Steve.”

Steve chuckled, kissing him again. “You called me Steve.”

Phil’s lips quirked into the kiss, and one hand slid into Steve’s hair. Steve decided that yes, that was nice, too. Very nice. He cupped Phil’s jaw, deepening the kiss, and Phil made that sound again. That was also nice, and Steve wondered if it was just for him. He pulled away, smiling.

“I can’t very well call you ‘Captain’ when you argue with me like that,” Phil said, but his brow was still furrowed. Steve smoothed it with his thumb. “I thought…”

“I’m not, for all intents and purposes,” Steve said, his smile a little wider. “But I like you. More than just friends. Is that okay? I’ve been trying hard to figure out how to say it for almost a month now. You just…I got angry. I thought there was something wrong with me.”

“No, there’s not.” Phil looked over him, his eyes searching. “Not a thing wrong with you. Can we take this slow? If you decide you don’t want…this, then you don’t feel like you’re obligated.”

“I don’t feel like I’m obligated now, Phil.” Steve pulled him closer, pressing their foreheads together again. “But yes, if you decide you don’t like me after dinner, we can stop. How does Thursday at seven sound?”

“Like I’m dreaming, if I’m honest.” Steve smiled and linked their fingers, and Phil met his eyes. “Okay. A date. And then we figure out where to go from here.”

“Great,” Steve said, leaning over to press a kiss to Phil’s cheek. “I’ll see you then.”

 “Yes, see you then.” Phil looked up, but Steve was already headed out the door for his debrief. He left Phil standing, a little dazed, in his office.

If Steve were whistling, no one made any mention of it.

* * *

 

Phil jumped when the knock on his door came. He looked down at his dress shirt and smoothed a hand over his tie, moving to open the door. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, but he was, and he was all right with it. He peered through the peephole and saw nothing but red. Curious, he opened the door and saw Steve standing there, his arm full of a bouquet of tulips.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“I wanted to do this right.” Steve smiled at him, and Phil decided that maybe, just maybe, things were starting to look up. “Can I come in?”

“Please do,” Phil said.

Steve caught him in a kiss, careful not to crush the flowers, and Phil decided that yes, things were starting to look up. He melted into it, and Steve smiled against his lips, pulling him closer.

They missed the movie, but neither one seemed to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That was more than I really intended to write, but regaining trust is something that takes time. One really shouldn't meet their heroes. I think that's why I like Phil so much. He never really gains any sort of disappointment. He's always in Steve's corner, even when he's upset with him.
> 
> I hope you liked it, Constant Readers.
> 
> \--Lywinis

**Author's Note:**

> Well then, that kind of hurt my soul to write. I'm going to go cry in the shower now. I should write fluffy things. Yes good. That will help.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> As a note, too, Clint's reference to Kansas is from Whiskey Lullabye, where Phil crawled into a bottle in a bar in Kansas and didn't come out. Clint was the one to find him and dry him out.


End file.
